


I Protect You When Your Back is Turned

by TimelessTears



Category: Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, LOTR reference, No Romance, No pairings - Freeform, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-07
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-04-30 10:10:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5159864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimelessTears/pseuds/TimelessTears
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Disclaimer: I do not own Thor.</p><p>A/ N: Written for a prompt over on norsekink, like, two years ago. Oops.</p><p>Prompt: Usually Asgardians think that Loki is a weakling that hides behind his tricks.</p><p>I know it's probably silly of me, but I'd like to read a story where people of Asgard (men and women, from noblemen to guards and servants) care about him, maybe even too much sometimes, because he's smaller than most of them (he's an adult man, NOT a child, though), and unlike them he's not a tough, muscled warrior, so it wakes their instinct to protect (ugh... something like that). They are afraid that he gets hurt, etc.</p><p>One day someone kidnaps him (probably even some other realm, someone strong and scary). Asgardians are not amused, and the kidnappers will have to deal with the huge crowd of enraged Aesir who will tear everyone and everything apart for hurting their little prince.</p><p>Thor/Loki, or no pairings at all, please.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Guard

** Chapter 1- Vidar **

The second prince was strange; everyone knew that. The black hair, short stature and slim face with pretty green eyes stood out starkly against the traits of his sibling and parents. His habits were even more mind boggling to the people of Asgard. What sort of man would willing - enthusiastically even - learn magic? What sort of warrior would prefer slick words over a sharp blade? Loki's preferences were met with many different reactions: confusion, disgust, and anger to name a few but never happiness; never that.

The guards of Asgard are the same as every other Asgardian in the fact that they love to fight, party, and start more fights. But when they're on duty, they are as stiff and solemn as Heimdall; taking in everything with their eyes and never moving unless they needed to. For every shift a guard takes, he becomes a silent specter of Asgard's trivial history; the everyday things that are gone from the minds of others in less than a day.

As it stands, the guards of the South Wall that overlooks the training area have a special soft spot for Loki.

They watched as over the years, the two little princes would sneak out to the training grounds and watch in awe as mighty men sparred for hours on end. Thor's mouth would open a little wider in shocked glee each time a powerful attack hit its target. By the way he wiggled so eagerly, he clearly wanted to go up and demand to be taught, but Loki would tug on his sleeve when Thor made a move to get up, shake his head sadly and inform Thor he was still too small.

Thor would pout before smiling and attacking his brother with tickling fingers, causing the delighted shrieks of a child to reach out into the wind.

Often, the two would have out their own play swords and have mock battles with Thor winning most of the time.

Then, Thor became old enough to start training. Loki would come and watch his brother practice, his shoulders showing his dejected spirit at losing his brother's company but he still clapped and hollered happily whenever Thor did exceptionally well.

The guards mouths stayed firmly shut but their eyes glittered with pride at how quickly Thor became a noble warrior, and their approval was echoed in the cheers of the other warriors on the training grounds.

Loki was not so lucky when his time came.

Vidar had just been assigned a permanent position as Head Guard of the South Wall when the Prince Loki began his warrior training.

When the Weapons Master handed the youngster a sword twice as thick as Loki's thin arms, Vidar felt despair creep into his heart and had to force his eyes from closing as the boy toppled over, struggling just to hold the weapon. The whole session was spent with the Weapons Master screaming himself hoarse at the trembling young prince. Finally, the man gave up, shaking his head and uttering words that almost had Vidar going to the King to report treason.

 _"It seems there is only one prince worthy of Asgard_."

The man had turned on his heel so he did not see the shattered look in those bright green eyes, he did not hear the shuddering intake of breath or see the bowed head as Loki wiped away any tears before they could fall. He quickly left the grounds and did not leave his room for the rest of the evening, ignoring even Thor's desperate calls.

Vidar's grip on his spear was so tight, his bones moaned in protest. A quick glance at his men told a similar story.

He personally thought the Weapons Master was an idiot. What sort of master gives a beginner a sword without even going over the basics? It was almost as if he had expected Loki to already know to handle the weapon.

Understanding hit Vidar and he fought back a groan.

The same Weapons Master had begun Thor's training two years ago and for some reason thought Loki would be on the same level as Thor was now. Perhaps he had too much mead to drink for lunch that day because it was obvious to any seasoned warrior that Loki had never held a real sword in his life. Children were forbidden to touch the weapons as a means of safety. Not only that, but Loki's body type was not built for heavy weapons like swords and axes.

For one week, Vidar and his men watched the Weapons Master belittle their prince.

For one week, they watched as Loki would sneak back at night and practice in secret till the sun peaked out; his skin paler than usual as he stumbled back to his room, exhausted, sweaty and bruised.

For one week, they forced themselves to watch the despair on Loki's face grow deeper and deeper at each failed practice.

On the first day of the new week, the guards rotated onto their vacation week and had enough free time to correct a few things.

The first was getting rid of a very confused Weapons Master - who became terrified when a sword was pressed firmly against his quivering neck. The whispered threat to stay away from the prince was hissed so violently, the man had packed up and left for Vanaheim the next day.

The second night, a set of daggers along with a training book about staffs and spears was left in Loki's room for him to find.

From then on, Vidar and his men watched as Loki became a flying shadow. Sharp edged blades flung from his pale hands with the precision of a seasoned archer. They watched as he moved gracefully with a spear expertly held in his hands; taking the weapon on a deadly dance that left many opponents gasping for air from their sprawled positions in the dirt.

He was still ridiculed for not wielding a sword like every other warrior. The prince shrugged off all the remarks and criticism and each night the guards would watch him continue to try and master the sword as well as his brother had before he was gifted with his hammer.

His success was little but he never gave up. Slowly, he learned to handle a sword decently over the years but never bothered to show anyone. The prince probably thought he would be laughed at for taking so long to master such a simple thing.

But the guards had watched and silently commended him. The years past and they never spoke of their love for the second prince.

Still, perhaps it was his delicate features and short stature, maybe it was the way he moved with more grace than a normal Asgardian or it might have even been Loki's preference for detailed tunics of fine silk with elegant designs seamlessly weaved about them.

Whatever the reason, the guards of the South Wall began to think of themselves as Loki's personal guards. They knew he was capable of taking care of himself but that did not stop any of them from stepping in when some went too far and hurt or insulted the prince.

The most memorable- besides the Weapons Master- had been a warrior who had bested Loki in a sparring match. This normally would not have been a problem, but the warrior was arrogant. He sneered down at Loki's fallen form, called him weak and wondered out loud if he would look as delicious in his bed panting underneath him as he did on the training grounds.

Loki had been too stunned to speak. Vulgar words had been directed his way before but never like that. It was clear the other warriors were in the same shock, yet none had stood up for Loki and Thor was currently out hunting.

There was little Loki could do but reject the man's 'offer' and leave the grounds with his head held high, ignoring the mocking laughter behind him.

If the prince had planned a clever revenge for the warrior, it never came to pass because the guards got to the man first.

The nice thing about arrogant warriors is that they are easy to goad and even easier to break if you know how to do it right. Many of Asgards older warriors had suffered through the Jotunheim War so they were very good at breaking people when they put their minds to it.

The best part, Vidar thinks fondly, is when Thor returned and found out what happened. If that warrior thought he had suffered at the guards hands, Thor showed him how wrong he was and the arrogant fighter quickly became a mad man under Thor's tender care.

Loki soon returned to the grounds and the incident was quietly forgotten about by most. Even better than Loki's obvious relief at never seeing the other man was the joy he had in sparring with his brother, both mock fighting in the way that they had done has children. Vidar and his men continued to watch contently has Loki grew over the years and their loyalty never wavered no matter the rumors and slander flung Loki's way because, unlike others, they  _saw_  Loki.

Vidar and his didn't care when Loki took an interest in magic.

Vidar and his didn't care when Loki began to scheme.

Vidar and his didn't care when Loki's words became polished silver with hidden iron underneath.

Vidar and his didn't care because they knew Loki was as true of a Prince of Asgard as his brother.

So when they heard the Queen's terrified sobs, the All Father's grave anger and Thor's thunderous rage echo down the mighty halls of the palace the night after a visiting party from Nidavellir departed, they rushed to the distressed family. Vidar felt numb as he came upon Prince Loki's room. The inside torn to shreds with blood splattered on the floor, mirrors shattered and his book, his precious, precious books ripped and tattered beyond prepare.

A rage so hot, it could have burned Jotunheim to the ground ran through him and it reflected in the eyes of his warriors.

Someone had taken their prince.

And when they discovered who had dared to do so, Vidar would personally make sure that the culprit would wish for something as lovely as death.


	2. The Maid

**Chapter 2- Greta**

Greta had been the one who discovered the awful scene in Prince Loki's room. In truth, she had felt a stirring in her stomach akin to nausea when she had gone that morning to change his bedding and noticed the door to his room was slightly ajar.

Prince Loki never left his door open. In fact, he had enchanted the handle several years ago to only allow in those he trusted, and he trusted few. Greta could count number on one hand.

Yet, she was among that small number and she felt honored for it.

She is not a person of high standing. Her immortal years have given her a chance to try several different jobs: a healer, cook, nanny, servant, seamstress and so many more that she has trouble keeping track.

Greta had first come to serve the Royal Family at the end of Bor's reign. The times were slowly becoming darker as skirmishes with Jotunheim became more violent and bloody by the day. War had not been declared but Asgard's army was gathering and she had been recruited on as an apprentice by the Healers as many young maidens had.

T'was smart thinking on whoever thought it up; Asgard had been plunged into war shortly after Odin became king and she had been up to her elbows in blood trying to hold onto souls desperate for Valhalla.

That war was devastating even for a society that loved fighting. Their warriors, ever lustful for battle, were becoming weary and after being considered skilled enough to heal on the battlefield, Greta knew why.

So many bodies. . .all mutilated in one way or another, both blue and pink. So many sobbing in pain, asking for someone to save them; so many others snarling in agony, demanding entrance into Valhalla.

She couldn't remember how many fool warriors she had knocked unconscious because they preferred death over the loss of a body part.

Thor's birth near the end of the war had been the bright spot everyone needed to trudge on. No one wanted the prince to grow up in war and none wanted the king to be parted from his family more than he needed to be. Thor had been Asgard's hope renewed and with that hope, the war ended in two short years.

Which was why it was perplexing when Odin announced Frigga had given birth to another son not long after.

Asgard was still reveling in its victory over Jotunheim, so most of the population had been drunk when the King revealed he had another son but a few citizens remained sharp witted (someone had to keep those drinks coming!) and had sent questioning looks to one another.

How could the Queen have given birth when Odin had been gone for so long? The babe's black locks and shocking green eyes did not help when he was presented to the court.

Whispers and tittering's of the Queen's infidelity started making rounds with the palace staff but the Senior Healers had been quick to silence those wagging tongues with sharp retorts that left many with their heads hung and ears burning.

Then, someone made the speculation that the child was that of a fallen warrior. Maybe his mother had died bringing him into this world and the Royal Family had taken him as a sign of goodwill and honor for those who have given their lives for Asgard?

It was a romantic notion that silly serving girls had made up, but those that suspected Loki was not of royal blood took it at face value and let it be. If the King and Queen took an orphan in out of pity, they would not question it.

Greta knew better.

Frigga may be a new mother but she was still a queen and she had responsibilities she could not abandon. It pained her to leave her children with a nanny so soon in life but she had no choice; a newborn and a toddler with a perchance for crying had no place in court.

Incidentally, Thor had been a very loud baby; his screams boomed like the thunder he would one day command when he wanted something. The nanny assigned to him and Loki had spent most her attention on him and, when she finally quieted him and checked on Loki, became horrified when she discovered the infant had stopped breathing.

She had rushed him to the healing rooms, tears streaming down her young face, certain she had killed him with her neglect. An apprentice was swift to remove her from the room and calm her while the healers focused on putting the breath of life back into the frail body of the babe.

It took much magic and the juice of Indunn's apples before the tiny baby finally began to fill his lungs with air and let loose a small cry just as a frantic Frigga and Odin scrambled through the doorway.

The servants could say whatever they wanted about Loki's parentage; gazing upon the King and Queen holding Loki between them, both caring little for the tears careening down their faces, Greta knew they already cherished him as their own.

Unfortunately, that would not be the last time little Loki would be in the healing chambers.

His small body was often fraught with fever and his lungs were undeveloped, leaving him struggling to breath.

As much as Frigga and Odin wanted to be by his side, they had a kingdom to run. Always though, the moment their duties were finished for the day, they made their way back to the sick child.

Greta watched Frigga spend many sleepless nights holding Loki, no doubt wondering if it would be the last, Odin by her side, always caressing a small hand with his war hardened one.

It took many trials but the healers finally developed a serum that would help Loki's lungs grow and stabilize while a mild freeze spell helped keep his temperature down.

He was still a very quiet baby, one could barely hear him whimper when he wanted fed, but he was on the mend and that was enough.

The Queen was not about to take any chances though and assigned Greta the job of watching Loki.

So that is what she did.

She spent many days singing old lullabies and soothing him with a cooling spell when he overheated. At nights, she stayed nearby with a spell invoked to inform her if he came to harm.

It was how, one moonless night, she discovered a blue tinted child in place of the pale one she was acquainted with. Raised scars crisscrossed over the body and sweet cherry eyes left no way for denial- he was one that belonged the frost.

For a brief-shameful-moment, her hand strayed to the dagger strapped to her thigh.

His face flickered in her head, of a moment when a barely there smile painted his face, and her hand fell away.

Jotun or no, she could not raise a hand to this child, let alone kill him. Looking at him, she chuckled wearily and took a step closer; this certainly explained why he was fevered so much.

Hesitantly, she touched the sniffling infant's forehead and snatched her hand back in shock- not because she was burned as she had feared, but because the blue of his skin was slowly overtaken by the white she knew so well.

A shape shifter was rare even for a race immersed in magic as the Jotuns.

Greta fretted that night and stayed vigilant at Loki's crib. Would he change back? How would the people react if this got out? Odin knew his youngest son was a Jotun, didn't he? Did Frigga? Should she say something?

No. She would keep her silence. Odin and Frigga had to know what Loki was. Odin would not bring home a child unaware of its origins and he was never good at keeping truths from Frigga.

On a rare day when the Royal Family had a day off and decided to spend it in the gardens, Greta took it upon herself to spend the day in the library reading up all she could on Jotuns. From these texts, she learned that Loki had most likely returned to his Jotun form in an effort to ward off the heat. The Asgardian skin he had hadn't worn off from lack of magic; it simply hadn't been strong enough to withstand the heat.

As long as he was kept cool, he would be safe.

She made sure to cast the cooling spell on him several times a day to be safe.

Over the years her station as his nanny never changed and soon Thor became her ward when it was clear he did not wish to be parted from Loki.

Honestly, she preferred Loki. Thor had his charms but she had not spent her days making sure he lived through the night as she had his brother. She had not sang to him and looked upon him with pride as he grew stronger every day, little by little, because Thor had always been strong. And now, Loki was strong too.

Watching over those two children was a task worthy for entrance into Valhalla but Greta would be lying if she said she had not enjoyed it. Their innocence helped combat the nightmares she still suffered from due to the war; visions of warriors she could not save were washed away by children's laughter, desperate pleas and agonized faces were replaced with inquisitive little eyes that looked at everything in gleeful wonder.

In minding the two princes, Greta found herself being healed when she hadn't even known she was hurt.

Yet, childhood has to end even for gods and as the centuries passed Thor and Loki no longer needed her. It hurt but it was true. Loki must have seen something in her expression because instead of being ordered back to the healing chambers, she found herself assigned as his new chamber maid.

Greta could not hold his hand as she did when he was a toddler but she watched him grow up strong and that was all she could ask for.

Of course she was aware that most of Asgard found him to be an oddity. He had been rejected by most of his peers but with Thor's help Loki managed through it all right. Regrettably, Thor's protection soon became a problem in itself; others admired the older prince for defending his brother while simultaneously chiding Loki for needing protection. The Golden Prince's efforts to help his brother simply casted the Silver Prince farther into the shadows.

Greta watched sadly as Loki began to slowly resent his brother, stalking into his room and slamming his door a little harsher each day, bruises and hurts from others already healing as he fell into a fitful sleep.

She would never admit it, but sometimes she casted that old cooling charm on him. He was no longer weak but it seemed to calm him.

No, he was no longer the struggling infant. His lungs had grown but that damage had been done and he simply did not have the same endurance as others. He had strength but he tired quicker than others. He tried, she knows he tried because there were nights when he would not come to his room and she would find him relentlessly practicing his sword play. Greta had heard whispers of the Weapons Master's hash treatment of Loki but she had not believed it until Vidar of the South Wall had stopped by Loki's room. He looked startled to see her there but after a moment of fumbling, gave her a set of daggers and a book and asked her to make sure Prince Loki received them. Greta, surprised at the thoughtfulness of the guard, just nodded dumbly. After he left, she checked the weapons and book over with several detection spells just to make sure they had not been tampered with. Once satisfied, she set them in Loki's room and hoped he would see them as the gift they were and not spurn them.

Several days later she heard through others of Loki's vast improvement in the ring and the Weapons Master's sudden move to Vanaheim.

She made sure the South Wall guards had the finest mead when they feasted that night.

Loki's interest in magic did not bother her either. Perhaps it was because she knew what he really was and knew it came naturally to him. Maybe it was because she herself casted magic and wanted him to show others that it could be wielded in battle and not be cowardly. When she caught others laughing and mocking him behind his back, she dutifully reminded them that the All Father used magic from time to time and that Mjolnir was infused with magic as well. That shut the busy bodies up well enough even if it did not change their minds.

She knew Loki would hate the fact that she was defending him; Thor had been defending him all his life and he wanted to prove his independence. But then Greta thinks of that small, blue infant and she can't help herself.

So when she discovers his room destroyed and him missing, she immediately alerts the All Father. It does not take long to deduce Loki had been kidnapped by the party from Nidavellir and a rescue party begins to form immediately with Vidar and his men volunteering. Greta is next to offer her services and almost scoffs out loud when Thor says battle is no place for an old woman.

The urge to put him in timeout was powerful but she resisted. Instead, she calmly reminded all who were near that she had been on the ice covered fields of Jotunheim as battles were fought and that she knew more healing spells than any other servant after watching over Thor and Loki as children. Despite the seriousness of the situation, Thor had the grace to look embarrassed and mumbled that she might be needed after all.

As the men prepared and gathered others to join in the rescue, Greta retreated to her rooms and changed into clothing better suited for travel. She packed several herbs that could both heal and poison depending on how they were used and enough bandages for a small army. Then, she walked over to a drawer that she had not opened in years.

The wood creaked in protest as it was pulled out. Inside sat a silver dagger that gleamed in the dull light. Picking it up, she tossed it in the air a few times and did a few fancy moves to reacquaint herself with the weapon. The dagger had been given to her as a means of defense when she had been sent to Jotunheim. Greta never thought she would be using it again. She was a healer, not a fighter but there was a first time for everything.

Loki's pale face came to the front of her mind; he wore a rare smile that showed how happy he was.

Then, the image changed. He morphed back into that small infant that had fought so vivaciously to live. Only this time, he stops breathing and she can do nothing.

The dagger tightened in her hand.

Yes, there was a first time for everything.


	3. The Cook

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Slight cross-over mentioned.

**Chapter 3- Ingnar**

Ingnar groaned deeply as he stretched, the satisfying sound of his back bones popping filled the air. With a grunt he stumbled over to the many pantries to retrieve a big pot for tonight's feast. The inconsistent sounds of his footsteps rang out as he walked- the deep beat of his heavy boot hitting the dusty floor followed swiftly by the high metallic clank of his metal peg-leg.

Normally, the kitchen was full and busy with cooks rushing back and forth from station to station to check on different delicacies being concocted. Yelling, cursing and sometimes the off-key singing of bawdy tavern songs were the music of the kitchen. Every now and again, a fight would erupt between two hot-blooded cooks but after facing Ingnar's wrath, most learned to keep their tempers in check. It's fine to let loose in the sparring ring, but in the kitchen where the food is cooked for the royal family? A man would have a better time facing off against Thor.

Now though, the kitchen was silent as it always was for one hour of the day and one hour only. As head cook, Ingnar decided what would be served and to do that he needed peace and quiet. Oh, it could have been done in his private chambers but the kitchen had the perfect atmosphere for coming up with new recipes.

It was also the only time he could get out the heavier pots and pans without some young upstart offering to do it for him. Some did it out of pity, others did it to gain favor with him and a small number did it to spite him; to subtly remind him that a crippled was not a worthy of Valhalla.

They all angered him and he was not ashamed to ban them from his kitchen. Bah, he had no need for meddlers!

Perhaps what was most bitter to him- even more bitter than the burdock roots the farmers hauled in- was that he had been a warrior once.

The Jotunheim War had been glorious in the beginning. He had already been an established warrior among his peers and the war brought a chance to achieve great feats and heroic deeds.

And he had done heroic things. Ingnar had saved two injured warriors by fending off a Jotun ambush single-handedly; he had protected the backs of many healers as they worked on the battlefield and had once used the weapon of a dying warrior so that the man's weapon would have one last victorious battle before going with him to Valhalla. Another time, his quick thinking of using torches to hold off an attack on a base had prevented not only deaths but loss of supplies. Most importantly though, he had become well known for severing the limbs of the Jotuns with his mighty axe; Ingnar the Limb Ripper, he had been called and he cherished the title.

Right up until a Jotun had served and severed him in kind.

It was the fiercest battle he had ever been in. His foe had been unusually smart for a Jotun. Possibly he had study Ingnar's moves from afar. Maybe the giant's rage for his fallen comrades gave him the strength to win or he had cast a spell to harden his skin. . .or perhaps, Ingnar's own weapon had betrayed him.

He had received the axe from a lone elf who had been traveling between realms. Ignar had been in Vanaheim and had just emerged victorious after defending a woman from some loathsome bandits. He had been cautious when the elf approached him with the weapon. After all, what type of creature gives a dangerous weapon to a potential enemy? He had told all this to the elf, who simply smiled and told him that the weapon had chosen him.

The axe was beautiful and hummed with magic. Ingnar had been immediately drawn to it; the fine, swirling runes that looped endlessly on the head of the axe and the curve of the blade glinted dangerously in the sunlight. The axe called to him and he had no choice but to take it. It could have easily been a cursed weapon but he didn't care - he had to have it. More than anything else in life, that axe belonged to him. Of this, Ingnar was sure.

The elf - blast, what was that elf's name? Leglas or something like that - had told him the axe had belonged to a friend who had passed on centuries ago. His fallen friend, a dwarf, had created the axe but the elf had infused magic into it as a birthday present. In fact, the axe hadn't even been named until after the owner's death!

Gimlocke, the elf had called it. Could cut through anything as long as the wielder's heart was fierce with love, loyalty and a will of steel to carry it through.

Ingnar had never run into that funny fellow - an elf befriending a dwarf? Unheard of! - again, but he would be forever grateful for the weapon gifted to him.

Right up until his last true fight.

That last battle, he had been so filled with blood lust, anger and glee. What was once an honorable challenge had become a twisted game to Ingnar. As a child stepped on bugs, so had he maliciously cut through giants - even those already injured and no longer a threat.

Until that last face off, when he swung Gimlocke into the upper arm of his opponent only for it to fail to even scratch his enemy. The giant had taken advantage of his shocked stillness and bashed him over the head with a club.

One strike and the mighty Limb Ripper had fallen to the ground in a daze.

A large, cold hand grabbed at his pant leg, burning through it and gripping his leg. He held back his pained moan at the frost bite spreading over his leg. That was alright, the healers could fix that- then, mind numbing pain as his lower leg was ripped out right at the knee cap.

The Jotun had left him to bleed out and freeze to death and Ingnar welcomed it. Soon the pain would fade and Valhalla would open its gates for him.

Or it would have if a healer hadn't staved off the bleeding.

He can't remember who it was, only that it was a woman and that he had shouted awful obscenities at her and had even slapped her across the face for trying to save him.

He wishes he could remember her features because he had not expected her to curl up her own fist and knock him into the next century.

He would have married her in a heartbeat - on the battlefield even! - if he had known.

But Ingnar hadn't known and when he woke up, he was in Asgard's healing rooms. Disoriented, he asked why he wasn't out on the battlefield and a nearby healer snorted and explained the battle place was no place for a man with one leg.

If only that healer from the battlefield had been there. Surely she would have knocked him out before he threw the worst temper tantrum ever seen in Asgard. It took two healers to hold him back and another to get a sedative in him to calm him down.

He won't even go into the painful process of getting fitted with the metal peg leg or learning to walk again. He doesn't like to think on the process, rather, Ingnar is just thankful for the result: that he could walk.

It had taken time and at first he was determined to walk back into battle but for every stumble and fall his resolve weakened and crumbled.

Besides, he was not even worthy to fight for Asgard anymore and it wasn't because of his leg. Others could argue themselves blue about how worthy he was but there was no point.

He knew the truth.

Hundreds of Jotuns with severed limbs knew the truth.

Gimlocke knew the truth.

So when he finally could walk- just as the war was in its last days- he calmly, quietly, took a job in the kitchen peeling potatoes.

He spent many years doing that; just silently sitting in a corner peeling potato after potato after potato. Ingnar had been mostly left alone with the exception of a few pitying looks shot his way every now and again. Most people knew he had been injured in the war and most knew not to mention it.

Then, one day, two little brats wandered into the kitchen.

He had heard of the two princes from various servants coming through. He had heard about how energetic Thor was at such a young age; how Loki was constantly in the healing wards due to some type illness. There had been worry that he would not make it out of infanthood and there had been great excitement when the healers found a cure.

So it was inevitable that one day, two little princes would somehow make their way to the kitchen. Despite being very loud and giggly the staff pretended not to notice them, as it was clear they were playing make-believe.

Ingnar stoutly ignored them until he felt eyes on him. Looking down, he found two pairs of eyes gazing at his leg in wonder. Before he could snap at them for staring, Thor began to exclaim loudly how magnificent his leg looked along with a million other questions: What happened? Did a dragon eat it? Did you eat the dragon? Was it from a cooking accident? Did another cook do it? Does it hurt?

He finally was able to get a word in when Thor ran out of breath. For the first time in possibly centuries, he spoke and his rusty voice weaved a story of enchantment around the two children, who listened eagerly; their eyes getting bigger and bigger as he continued on.

He ended on sad note, of how he could no longer be a warrior, which seemed to make the two princes sad as well. Thor told him it was unfair before bursting into tears, which startled a nearby cook who quickly took the bawling boy outside.

Loki had tears in his own green eyes but instead of crying loudly, he calmly walked closer to Ingnar and patted his leg before speaking:

" _Papa lost his eye in the war and he is still a warrior, so you should be a warrior too._ "

The words shocked Ingnar. He had never thought of that. Odin had lost an eye and he was still considered a valiant warrior.

The words brought life back into Ingnar. However, he no longer desired to be a warrior. He had let his body go in his depression and it would take time to get it back into proper shape. That, and he no longer felt the call of battle as he once did. Instead, different scents and spices filled his dreams with sounds of a roaring fire and knives chopping through thick meats.

From then on he strove to be more than a potato peeler. He began to slice through the hides of beasts with perfection, fight with unruly flames and learn which fruits were rotten at a glance.

If he slipped a few honey cakes to Thor and Loki every time the princes came by, the other cooks were wise enough to say nothing.

He had made head cook when Loki looked like a 9 year old human. The youngest prince had come in when he had been going over recipes. He was paler than usual with tears streaming down his face.

Ingnar had said nothing, figuring the boy would speak when he was ready. Sure enough, Loki started to talk, asking if it was so wrong for a warrior to use magic in battle. Why was it considered cowardly when it could save so many if used correctly?

Ingnar thought it over. At one time, he would have spat on a person for even suggesting such a thing. There was no honor in a man using magic to fight. It was not the way of their people.

But Ingnar knows differently now. Had it not been for that healer using magic, he would not be here. In that case, was it really so dishonorable to use magic if it was to save your fellow comrades and friends? Was it so wrong to want to save and protect what you love, that you would go beyond your own physical powers to achieve it?

He did not think so but he knew many would argue against him. In the end, he hobbled over to Loki, dropped an apple in the boy's lap, patted his head and muttered that people did not understand what it meant to give everything for what you love.

Loki left with a little smile on his face.

Ingnar heard a few nights later he begun practicing magic and smiled at the news. If the feast that night had all of Loki's favorites, well, it was probably a coincidence.

As a cook he had no reason to go near the training grounds, but news reached even the kitchens when the princes began training. There was much praise for Thor and little for Loki, but if Ingnar had heard right, the Weapons Master had disliked Loki. The man had quickly moved to Vanaheim not a week later, so Ingnar didn't have to poison his food.

And he would have.

Over the years, since Loki's first question about using magic in combat, the young prince had made the kitchen a place to hide and relax. He had an uncanny sense of knowing when Ingnar would be alone. They never conversed much, no deep conversations took place, but in the communal silence, they had become good friends despite the age difference.

Loki never tried to help Ingnar get out the heavier pots and Ingnar never told anyone Loki was in the kitchen if asked.

The boy even peeled potatoes if Ingnar was busy preparing the meats.

So he became used to the slim ghost darting around and helping out in small ways and he repaid him with honey cakes. Loki sometimes even made him laugh with a few magic tricks.

How, he wondered once as Loki made glittered rain come down from the ceiling, could this art ever be considered dishonorable?

Loki didn't always join him, so when he didn't come in one day, Ingnar wasn't worried.

He did frown in confusion when the door opened and Greta stepped in. She had never been too far from Loki and he wouldn't be surprised if she knew the prince had taken refuge in the kitchen at times. His eyes darted to the leather she wore and the dagger strapped to her thigh.

She quietly explained that Loki had been taken by the dwarves last night and that a rescue party was being put together.

He didn't have to think about it before volunteering.

When he told the other cooks, they thought he meant he was simply getting food ready for the journey. The looks on their faces when he told them point blank he would be going with the party to get Loki were magnificent. Some tried to protest his decision but it died in their throats at his glare.

After barking out what food they needed to prepare, he went to his rooms to retrieve a few things.

In the corner of his bedroom, sitting on a pedestal gathering dust, sat Gimlocke.

Often he had looked at the weapon but he never picked it up. It never felt right and he feared he would never be as worthy as he once was.

This day though, this day when a certain prince was not where he should be, Ignar fearlessly grabbed the handle of the axe and felt the weapon come alive and hum with power.

If Odin could fight with one eye, Ingnar could fight with one leg.


	4. The Thief

**Chapter 4- Agmund**

Asgard was, of all the nine realms, the most prosperous and beautiful. That is not to say that the other realms were dull in anyway sense of the word. Why, if one ventured to Vanaheim they could enjoy the sweet smelling air of the hanging gardens that hugged and crept over the white stone buildings. Venture into Alfheim in the right season and one could see that the nights glowed under the moon light as did its people, who take great joy in dancing and holding festivals at all hours. Though very little light enters into Nidavellir, the caves that the dwarves made into homes and cities have magnificent carvings etched into the walls. Even Jotunheim, though few would dare to speak or even recall, had beautiful architecture created from both stone and ice; though the war had caused the sturdy structures to crumble, any who traveled to Jotunheim today would admit that even the ruins held a certain enchantment about them.

These are just to name a few, yet none could deny that Asgard could hold one's eyes for hours with its golden palace, sky high buildings that touched the clouds and the beauty and laughter of its people.

But even the Golden Realm had its poor.

The palace stands in the center of the city. Around it are the houses of nobles and high ranking warriors. A little beyond the houses are the barracks and training grounds for soldiers. Conveniently placed taverns were built nearby for warriors who needed some good meat and ale after sparring.

The barracks and taverns take up the South and East side of Asgard while the North and West side held the market place, the houses of the citizens of Asgard and a few inns for travelers. The market place is vast and filled with vendors from several realms, selling their goods in wooden booths. It's a loud and lively place, filled with yelling, haggling and few brawls every now and then.

As one traveled farther West, they would leave the city and enter into the fields of farmers. Should they travel North, they would not find fields but shabby buildings, muddy streets and dirty people with quiet, hungry eyes.

Though it has no true name, it is often called the Rust District of Asgard by the citizens. Indeed, many mothers warn their children that if they venture into the Rust District, they will be caught and sold to the Jotuns to be eaten. Stories like this and the belief that liars and thieves live there have given the Rust District a distrustful reputation that made it even harder for its inhabitants to make ends meet.

The truth is, while there are some strange and dishonorable characters living in the district, it is mostly made up of widows, orphans and the sickly. When Asgard had been at war with Vanaheim so long ago, it was the North side that had been attacked hardest and it was those living in that area that suffered the most.

This is not to say its reputation is entirely undeserved.

Agmund whistled a soft tune to himself as he casually bumped into another Asgardian at the market place, causing the woman to drop her goods onto the dirty street. A few apples and loaf of bread got a little muddy while her milk, in a finely crafted pitcher, broke apart. She cursed him for his carelessness and bent down to pick up what she could salvage. Gasping in mortification, Agmund bent down and helped her, apologizing as he did.

If his hand managed to slip her coin purse and an apple into his pocket, well, perhaps she should have paid better attention.

It is not that Agmund particularly enjoys stealing from others. In fact he rather detests it, but nobody buys the goods offered in the Rust District and he and his mother have to eat somehow. Often times, he'll keep an eye out for the more finely dressed shoppers. Nobles never mingled with the commoners but they often sent their servants out wearing fine clothing to show their wealth without even being there.

Agmund hated that. Hated that these people were so high and mighty; wealthy enough to show off but not kind enough to help those below their stations.

Agmund grew up believing that the poor were invisible to the rich. He and his kind were nothing more than something to joke about or to be accused of a crime when noticed. He burned to prove them wrong, to show that the poor of Asgard were not liars and cheats; that they worked just as hard as everyone else and if they were just granted a moderate amount of money to fix up the district, they could integrate with the market place and make their own way like everyone else.

He and numerous others from the district had tried several times to petition before the All Father but none of them had ever made it past the palace guards, who felt their dirty faces and rags for clothes were unsuitable to be seen by anyone in the Royal Court.

It was humiliating and it made those in the Rust District overflow with resentment towards anything related to Asgard's upper crust.

So one day when he spots a slender young man dressed in fine greens and silvers, Agmund thinks he's another servant and goes about his business bumping into him as the man looks at some daggers a merchant is trying to sell him. Green eyes set in pale skin look at him curiously as Agmund slyly maneuvers a heavy coin purse from a silk pocket into the sleeve of his shirt. All the while, he holds the servants eyes and gives him a sheepish smile and quick apology to which the servant gives back a small smile along with the tiny, barely there tilt of his head before turning his attention back to the merchant.

Agmund thought nothing more of it as he rounded the corner and took out the coin purse to see how much he managed to get off the servant. By the feel of the purse, it would seem like he had made a good haul.

So he is naturally shocked when upon opening the purse, there is nothing but air inside. The heaviness disappeared the moment he looked in and he was left with an empty purse. A finely made one but an empty one all the same.

Bewildered and disappointed (but mostly bewildered) Agmund decided to recount his earlier hauls and was astounded to discover that all 3 coin purses he had lifted off others had been lifted off him.

That servant had pick-pocketed him!

Stunned at this revelation, Agmund looks around the corner to catch sight of the man only to find him gone.

It stings his pride that his own skill had been used against him so finely that he had not even noticed. He tried to put it out if his mind as he spent the rest of the day making up for what he lost. Unfortunately, he was only able to grab two more purses before a cry went up in the crowd that there was a thief in their midst. Agmund quickly and quietly made his way back to the Rust District before he could be accused.

As he walked towards his small house, he mentally prepares himself to face his mother. She does not judge him for what he does; she knows he steals so they can live another day. Still, it hurts to look at her; to see the woman who had raised him so thin and frail. A woman still deeply broken over the death of her husband, a fine man who had fallen in battle, whose only presence in the house was a sword hanging on the wall. It was the only thing of value that they had and Agmund would never dare ask his mother to sell it. She looked to the sword every day for strength and guidance. Without it, Agmund feared she would wither away, turn to dust and join his father in the afterlife.

After his father's death, she had been able to support them with her sewing but as the Rust District's reputation grew, she lost clients. For a time she taught the orphans of the district how to read and write, often having them practice writing in the dirt with sticks. She was not paid for this but as the orphans and Agmund grew, they found other means of supporting themselves and had no qualms giving her bread and drink on someone else's money.

As Agmund rests his hand on the door handle, he stops as he hears voices conversing inside. Fearing the worst - guards, interrogating his mother about his crimes - he quickly pushes the door open and wonders if he can reach his father's sword before the guards can draw their weapons.

But there are no guards - only his mother chatting with the servant from the market place. The servant looked out of place in Agmund's house; his elegant clothing and clean appearance clashed with the rickety table and crudely put together chair he was sitting on. The windows were dirty with a few broken panes and the walls had cracks.

Both looked over at him and the servant let loose a mischievous smile before hiding it behind his hand. Confused at the turn of events, Agmund turned to his mother and demanded answers. Her eyes lit up in a way he hadn't seen since he was a small child, but there was also reproach in them as she introduced Prince Loki to him.

Prince Loki. Not a servant.

He had stolen from a prince.

By Valhalla, he was going to be executed, wasn't he?

It wasn't that he hadn't been aware of what the princes looked like; it was that Thor was seen more by the common people than Loki. Thor, who loved to go on adventures with his comrades and get drunk at the taverns while telling tales of their bravery to all who would listen. Loki, while often mentioned in these stories, had never been seen at the bars, so while most people knew what Thor looked like, few had ever seen Loki.

Of course, his exploits were as famous as Thor's adventures. There are not many that can get away with changing the all the ale in the palace to water and live to tell the tale.

And while he had been described as pale skinned with green eyes and black hair, Agmund would have thought the prince would have had a pair of guards with him if he was shopping at the market.

Agmund stands there and waits for Prince Loki to condemn him. Clearly, his mother wasn't aware he had stolen from the prince else she would not be so relaxed. He's prepared to get on his knees and beg that his mother be spared but Prince Loki simply nods his head as he did at market before turning back to converse with Agmund's mother.

Still uneasy, Agmund joins them at the table and sees that his mother had brought out some clothes she had made. Prince Loki looked them over with a delicate eye before declaring that he would like to commission a tunic from her. He sat down a coin purse - the same one Agmund had taken - and asked if it was enough.

With trembling hands, Agmund's mother loosened the string and let out a shaky breath at the gold coins that spilled onto the table. With tears in her eyes, she tells the prince that it is far too much for a tunic and tries to give some back.

Prince Loki shook his head and told her that he would have nothing but the best and that the coins should cover for both supply and labor. Still in shock, his mother asks the prince what type of tunic he'd like her to make. Smiling, Prince Loki tells her that as long as it was green, she could do as she pleased. After saying this, he glanced out the window and exclaimed that he must take his leave lest his absence be noticed at the palace. As he walks to the door, he calls out over his shoulder that he would be back at the end of the week to check on the progress.

Both Agmund and his mother are speechless. After a moment of silence, his mother begins to babble as she starts to move in a frenzy. She talks about everything at once; what type of clothe she would need, if silver thread would be in bad taste and that she needed new needles this instant.

Agmund is wondering why his head is still attached to his shoulders.

As he thinks over the strange events that occured, he becomes more and more convinced that it is an elaborate prank that Prince Loki has set up. By the end of the week, Prince Loki will come back, scoff at tunic and have Agmund arrested.

He vaguely considers running to another realm (taking his mother with him, of course) but even though Agmund is a poor Asgardian, he is still an Asgardian with pride and he will accept the consequences of his actions. A right pity though, he thinks as he caresses the sword on the wall, that his father did not survive. Agmund had always loved his father's sword. He had no wish to wield it, but he was fascinated with the shape of the blade, the curve of the hilt and the designs so intricately engraved onto the steel.

Surely, had his father lived, they would be living in a nice house and Agmund could have been a blacksmith's apprentice.

But the reality is that his father is dead, they are not living in a nice house and Agmund is not a blacksmith's apprentice.

He goes through the next few days as a man living his lasts. His mother - he has not the heart to tell her of what will come - works on the tunic with the fervor of one possessed. She used part of the money to buy the finest supplies she could and Agmund could see a masterpiece slowly being sewn together.

He ardently hopes Prince Loki will not destroy the tunic.

Prince Loki kept his word and came back at the end of the week. Again, he is alone and again he nods politely to Agmund before inspecting what his mother had made so far of the tunic. The Prince has a good eye, Agmund decides, when he declares the work top quality and gives his mother even more money despite her still having much left over from the last time.

They talk a little, his mother and the Prince. She's flushing with pride, telling the Prince all these technical terms that Agmund knows the prince must find boring. But Prince Loki seems to be a keen listener and hangs onto her every word, nodding every now and again and even asking questions.

The Prince's act is very good, but Agmund can see through it and it angers him. It is one thing to trick him - he deserves it for stealing, but his mother had done nothing.

He slams his fists on the table, startling the two and demands that Prince Loki stop his mind games. His mother gives him a horrified look and Prince Loki cocks his head to the side in a curious manner. The prince explains that he is not playing any games; he is overseeing a tunic he commissioned.

Agmund snorted at the diplomatic answer and called the prince out like the liar he is. Prince Loki flinched at the accusation and his mother, Odin help him, his mother. . .

. . . reached across the table and slapped him across the face.

"Who are you, thief?" she had hissed at him, the red sting on his face still prominent and throbbing. "Who are you to slander one of the Royal Family? You shame me," she said, before solemnly pointing at the sword on the wall.

"You shame  _him_."

He choked out the story to her; how he had accidently stolen from the Prince when he mistook him for a servant. It only infuriated her more and through gritted teeth she explained that she was aware of his error, seeing as the prince had painted it as a humorous story to her and that he felt no harm had been done since no money had actually been stolen. Regardless, she had offered to sew some clothes for free to make up for Agmund's actions and had been showing the Prince some of her past work when Agmund had walked in.

And Agmund does feel shame as he takes in Prince Loki who had been silent. Prince Loki, who could have had Agmund killed for theft, had not only forgiven the transgression but had even helped his starving family.

Falling to his knees before the Prince, he bowed until his forehead hits the dirt and begged for forgiveness.

And Loki, the God of Mischief and Lies, forgave.

It took Agmund a long time to puzzle out why Prince Loki had forgiven him. Had it been Prince Thor, Agmund had no doubt he would have been summoned to the training grounds and killed in battle, for that is how Thor handles those who displease him.

Prince Loki began coming by the Rust District once a week. The orphans and other residence were nervous in the beginning - for why would a prince spend his time in the Rust District? - but over time, his visits became welcomed, anticipated even, when it became clear he was there to help them.

The younger orphans, in particular, enjoyed his visits because he often came in disguise and the first to find him would receive a gold coin and a magic trick.

Through the years, Prince Loki made the Rust District a better place. It started with Agmund's mother (now a Royal Seamstress) but it had expanded once the other residents felt comfortable talking to Prince Loki. Agmund felt significantly better when others did not recognize Loki as a prince upon first meeting him.

It was Prince Loki who brought back medicine and used spells to help heal the ill. If he could not heal them, then he would bring someone who could.

It was Prince Loki who listened to the residence and helped them achieve their dreams. Several orphans were able to go to school because Prince Loki paid for them; the girl down the road who was happiest when she was baking was hired by a local baker after Prince Loki spoke of her talent. Often, Agmund passed her in the morning and could hear her humming sweetly as she set out freshly baked loaves to cool.

It was Prince Loki that set Agmund up an apprenticeship with the local blacksmith.

That had been many years ago, when Agmund had been a child who thought he was a man.

And for all those years he never understood why Prince Loki would do so much for people who could offer nothing in return. Agmund had thought on it often and it was in the middle of etching the runes of a warrior's name into a sword that he realized why Prince Loki had done what he had so long ago.

Agmund is a well-known blacksmith now and he often received commissions from the noble households. He learned they were not all bad people, but sometimes he would catch them gossiping about how Prince Loki had wasted his time and money trying to fix up the Rust District, unaware that a former occupant was but a few feet away. Nobles like that often discovered priceless items missing after Agmund was finished, though none had connected it to him.

Prince Loki loved the people of Asgard. Simple as that.

Prince Thor brings glory to Asgard by his great feats done outside the realm.

He is loved for it.

Prince Loki brings glory to Asgard by making sure her people are happy.

He has never been recognized for this.

So when word breaks out that Prince Loki was captured and a rescue party was being put together, Agmund does not volunteer to go. He doesn't have the any skills that would be helpful in battle. He does, however, make sure the finest swords he made are given to the warriors going for no cost.

He also begins on a set of daggers for Prince Loki when he returns.

And he will return.

After all, if Prince Loki can pick-pocket the best thief in the Rust District, he can escape a few kidnappers.


	5. The Father

**Chapter 5- Odin**

Odin withheld a sigh and a flinch as Frigga stalked out of their private chambers, slamming the door behind her. He had upset her greatly by telling her she could not join the rescue group. His wife was a logical and calm woman but when it came to her children, she could become ferocious if she felt they had been harmed.

The dwarves had definitely ignited her rage with their actions.

Odin had to run to catch up with Frigga after Vidar and his troop had volunteered their services to help find Loki. He had found her practicing with her short swords, jabbing and swinging at invisible enemies. Her armor was already on and she looked more like the Goddess of War than the All Mother.

He almost lost his other eye when he told her he needed her to stay behind and act as regent. She had tried to argue but in this case he would not be moved. Thor was already prepared to go and he would destroy the palace if Odin ordered him he had to stay behind. Frigga was the best choice; she could keep things in hand while Odin tracked down those kidnappers.

Had Frigga thought he would stay behind, careless of the perils their youngest could be facing? Did she think her rage was the only one kindled?

There had been, for as long as Odin could recall, the belief that he favored Thor over Loki. He had long tried to correct this thought but, when one is King, it seemed like such a small thing in a sea of problems.

Every day he gets up and listens to the people of Asgard. There's always more than he can see in one day so the petition time is cut off at noon. He dines briefly with his wife (and sometimes his sons) before he spends the rest of his day sequestered away with his council men going over taxes, trade agreements and such. It can become quite tiring, trying to make sure that everyone is happy, so he often goes straight to bed after dinner, leaving him little time to spend with his sons.

But he is well aware of how they are viewed by the warriors of Asgard.

Thor is Asgard's golden child. He has the perfect physique, monstrous strength and can weld any weapon with ease, though he prefers his hammer. Ah, but that is not the only reason why the warriors look fondly upon him; not only can Thor wield any weapon, he also follows the warriors honor code to near perfection, his only fault being that he becomes berserk if his blood-lust is fed too much. Odin had been similar when he was young, so many assume he favors his eldest.

Loki, on the other hand, has a hard time lifting a broadsword; a most basic weapon to all Asgardians. Many of the warriors found Loki's lack of strength both funny and shameful and they were not afraid to let their voices be heard.

Odin knew better than to underestimate Loki. His boy may not compare to Thor on the battlefield in the traditional sense, but he is far from shameful. He has seen, hiding in his balcony between meetings, Loki using daggers and staffs better than his most skillful warriors. Even more impressive, he began incorporating his magic, using his body doubles as an advantage in battle.

Sadly, his warriors-wary of any changes in battle tactics-were quick to slam Loki down, claiming his fighting style was dishonorable. Odin had always meant to change that way of thinking.

He heaved a sigh at the thought. There were so many things he 'meant to change' that he never found the time for.

One in particular was the Rust District. The war with Vanaheim had been at the end of his father's reign and finished up just before Odin took the throne. He had meant to send aid to the Rust District but tension with Jotunheim seemed far more important. Before he knew it, he was in a war of his own.

Odin could have kicked himself for that. Asgard's warriors were still recovering from Vanaheim. It was pure luck that they had won against Jotunheim. His hastiness to dive into war and prove his worth as a king is but one reason why Thor has not been crowned. His eldest is far too war hungry. Already he was muttering about going to war with Nidavellir.

Odin had his own suspicions when he had received a letter from the dwarves asking permission to come to Asgard to renew their trade agreements. That was the first tip off; dwarves do not like leaving their realm. If one wanted something from the dwarves, one went to them.

The letter was signed by King Hreidmar, so Odin had agreed to the meeting but still kept his suspicions. Loki, as a child, had found ways to forge Odin's signature so he imagined dwarves skilled in magic would not have a problem either.

The party stayed for a week and through all their meetings, Odin felt that there was something off about their small guests. He had met these dwarves before but their mannerisms were stiff and nervous, confirming Odin's thoughts that they were likely wearing glamours or were being controlled.

He was waiting for them to do something worthy of being unveiled; he was positive they were aiming for something in the Weapons Vault and had doubled the guard and asked Heimdall to keep a special eye on it. All week he waited for the impostors to make their move which, sure enough, they did.

They made their move and took one of his greatest treasures. He was unprepared for it to be Loki.

Upon Loki's door was a concealing rune, which explained why Heimdall's gaze had been blind to the crime. By the looks of his youngest child's room, Loki had been surprised but hadn't gone down without a fight. There was more dwarven blood spilled than Loki's- dwarf blood was always a deep red while Loki's ran light, just a few shades off from pink.

Thor, in his protective mode, thought all the blood was Loki's and the sudden, booming thunder let all of Asgard know just how angry Thor was. Odin didn't even bother to try and correct his eldest on the matter. The boy was already mad that Odin was taking the time to set up a rescue party. Thor always felt responsible for Loki's safety, so it was only natural he felt he should be the one to find the dwarves and give them their dues.

His poor son had no idea how angry Odin was; the All Father was simply better at hiding it.

For these to impostors to come into his home and take his son right under his blind eye enraged him.

They were probably planning on using Loki as a bargaining chip to gain something in return from Odin. Those dwarves had probably already prepared a promise to release him for some treasure and then swindle Asgard by taking the treasure and sending Loki back dead. No doubt they felt he was the safest choice for a hostage- he was the spare after all.

They could not have made a worse choice.

Odin, though Loki did not know, had chosen to take Loki. He had been bewitched with love the moment innocent red eyes turned green in his war mongering hands. That same child was the one both him and Frigga had watched through tireless and anxious nights, both fearing each tiny breath would be the last. That child, who only a few short years later, would run to him in excitement to tell Odin about his adventures with his brother, recall what he had learned from his tutors or show Odin a drawing he had done, had brought great joy to Odin.

That same boy had grown into a kind and powerful young man. A man who knew his faults and practiced tirelessly to correct them. A man who saw all the people of Asgard and found ways to help them without bragging. He was a man who saw, listened, and asked questions; a prince worthy of his people.

But mostly he was Odin's son. It did not matter that he was second; Odin loved him as he loved Thor.

Odin has to hold back his anger. He is no longer young. When they find Loki's kidnappers, he has to make sure they live for questioning.

Those dwarves will not be thanking him for sparing their lives.

Odin has lived a long time, he knows there are things far worse than death.

These kidnappers are about to find out too.


	6. The Brother, Part 1

**Chapter 6- Thor, Part 1**

Thor tightened his grip on Mjolnir as Odin finally gave the order to move out. By Valhalla, they should have left for the Bifrost hours ago! Loki had probably been smuggled out of Asgard through one of those blasted secret paths by now.

Sometimes, Thor wondered if Odin even cared for Loki at all. He knew that if he had been captured - though he would have never allowed that to happen! - Odin would have burned down everything and everyone to get him back as soon as he could. So why, with Loki, was he calmly making sure that everyone in the rescue party double checked their rations and weapons?

The rescue party itself was a waste and an insult in Thor's good opinion. Vidar and his men may be trained warriors but all they do is watch over the South Wall. Thor doubted they had seen battle in the last century. Still, they were slightly better than Greta and Ingnar. What good would an old woman and a crippled cook do? If anything, they would slow the group down. True, both had been active during the Jotunheim War, but Greta was but a simple maid with a dagger and Ingmar's glory days ended with the loss of his leg. The two would probably be overwhelmed by the oncoming battle.

Thor had tried to quietly explain this to his father but the old man just glared and chided him for disrespecting his elders.

It was not disrespect! It was the truth!

Why did Odin not allow the younger, stronger warriors to come along? So many, along with the Warriors 3 and Sif, had offered their services, but Odin had cut the party number at 15: Odin, himself, Greta, Ingnar and Vidar with his 10 warriors.

Deep down, Thor knew why Odin refused the service of the younger warriors. Many held little love for Loki and were simply volunteering to gain favor with Odin as well as have bragging rights for rescuing the youngest prince.

Thor would never allow that to happen. Anybody who would dare tease Loki about this would meet their doom by Thor's hand.

Few realize how much Thor remembered from his childhood. He remembers peaking around corners to peer into the healing rooms where his brother laid, panting and coughing weakly. He heard how close Loki was to death as a mere babe but even as a young child, he would relapse if it was too hot or he overworked himself.

It is absolutely frightening as a young boy to look back in a game of tag and see your brother on the ground, unresponsive and choking on air.

Ever since that incident, Thor has been protective of his brother. Loki may call him a thoughtless oaf, but on hot days when Thor sees Loki breathing heavily, he always suggests they relax down by the cool lake instead of training.

He doesn't want to see his brother fall like that again, especially with an audience.

Asgard values strength and Thor was beyond happy when he was finally allowed to start his warrior training. He had worried at first that his trainer would praise him - due to his status - even when he was doing awful, but he had ended up excelling beyond anyone's expectations. He and Loki had watched the warriors practice for years but actually participating was exhilarating. His only regret was that Loki was stuck watching him instead of training alongside him.

So when Loki finally turned the proper age to start training, Thor was probably more excited than Loki. He was confused when the Weapons Master handed Loki a broadsword longer than his arm. When Thor had started, he was given a wooden sword and taught the proper moves before working up to a real blade. The longer the session went on, the more Thor's frown deepened at the Weapons Master's actions. At the end, when that old fool said something that left Loki in near tears, Thor was about to skewer the man but was held back by the other warriors. They told him he couldn't just fly off the handle in anger at every offense he saw. Thor tried to convey that this was more than a simple offense; this was his brother being humiliated! He wasn't being taught properly! The others laughed and told him to wait a week before doing anything. After all, the old Weapons Master liked to drink more than most; things would get better for Loki.

The week ended with Loki more insecure about his abilities as a warrior and Thor was convinced he was about to turn into a fire giant, his anger was so hot. That Weapons Master was going to feel every hurt he made Loki feel, or he would have if the man hadn't suddenly fled from Asgard. If Thor was a vengeful man, he'd of asked Heimdall long ago where that coward went so he could end his miserable life.

When Loki showed improvement with different weapons, Thor thought his brother's trials were over but the other warriors were not impressed. To them, anyone who couldn't hold a sword didn't belong on the battlefield.

Thor would have agreed, but he knew his brother; he had seen how hard Loki had worked, how often Loki had to stop because his endurance was not enough. Thor tried to change their opinions about his brother but it seemed the more he defended Loki, the lower the soldiers thought of his brother.

The worst though, was that vile pig that had dared to call himself a warrior of Asgard.

Thor had been away when it happened, but Sif and the Warriors 3 had been quick to inform him of what that pitiful worm had implied he would do to Loki. At first, Thor thought it was a sick jest they had made up; their warriors were honorable and none would dare suggest such a revolting thing to Lok! Upon finding Loki hiding away in the library, nervous and afraid of even Thor's touch, he began to doubt his thoughts. It took hours to get Loki to open up and tell him what had transgressed on the training grounds and even longer to wrangle the culprit's name from his stubborn brother's lips. By the end, Loki had to physically stop Thor from marching out of the library to kill that beast in Asgardian skin. So the tables turned and Loki kept Thor in the library trying to convince his brother that everything was alright and that there was no need to seek vengeance on his behalf.

If Loki wasn't pale and so short of breath from panic, Thor might have disagreed with him. For the moment though, Loki was more important than retribution so Thor put on a calm mask and stayed with him for the rest of the day.

But his anger was not forgotten and he had immediately sought out that  _níðingr_ the next morning. All learned that day that Thor's justice was neither swift nor painless and many heard the disgraced warrior's screams in their dreams for months on after. Brutality aside, the silent message had been heard and spread amongst the warriors:

Thor will always protect Loki.

Which was why he was beating himself up for letting those dwarves trick him so easily. Thor might not have excelled in his studies as well as Loki, but even he knew dwarves hated leaving their realm for any reason.

Thor's stomach lurched as another thought came to him; he had eaten and drank with those dwarves at the feast yesterday.

He had been merry with thieves that snatch up brothers in the night.

Disgusting.

He couldn't help it; the thought pushed him over edge and white lighting crackled across the sky, dancing away as the low rumble of thunder came upon it.

Odin snapped at Thor to control himself and Thor would have replied in kind but Odin finally gave the order to move out. As Odin began walking, he informed the company that Heimdall had reported seeing the flickering images of dwarves in the forest south of the palace; a common mistake made by sorcerers when under pressure. Invisibility spells only held up if one had their whole focus on the spell.

Loki had taught him that. His green eyes had been bright and gleeful as they always were when he learned new things.

Thor vowed he would see that look on his brother's face again. Tightening his grip on Mjolnir, Thor closed his eyes as the Bifrost lit up, taking the group to the outskirt of the forest where the dwarves had been spotted. The dwarves would know they were coming but Odin was more concerned about catching up with the fiends than subtleness- the first action that Thor actually agreed with on this mission.

The moment they hit the ground, Thor was stomping towards the trees. He ignored the calls of the others and would have continued on had he not found himself frozen in place. Immediately, he knew it had been Greta who had cast the spell for he had become well acquainted with it as a rambunctious child when he preferred to continue playing over the calls to go bathe.

Ingnar's heavy hand fell on the back of his head. The old cook scolded him fiercely, calling him a child for trying to forge ahead alone with no plan. Thor had a plan: Find the dwarves, kill them, retrieve Loki and go home.

His cheeks flushed in embarrassment at the treatment and hoped his father would rescue him. A quick glance told him that Odin was annoyed and, unfortunately, that annoyance was at Thor's actions. So with a quick grunt to relay that he would listen to their plan, Greta released the spell.

The plan, Thor felt, was less than impressive.

They would walk through the woods. Odin, Thor, Greta and Ingnar would be encircled by the guards as Vidar took to the front. Thor protested this - Odin or Thor should take the lead. They were royalty, the leaders - why should they be hiding behind the guards? Vidar's reply that because Odin and Thor were royalty was the reason they needed to be protected grated at Thor's nerves but his concern for Loki overcame his need to argue. He reasoned to himself that he could easily leave the circle if needed.

So the company walked the woods swiftly and silently. Begrudgingly, Thor was impressed with those he deemed 'simple wall guards'. Vidar and his kept excellent watch and moved like they had seen battle their whole life. Surprisingly, neither Greta nor Ingnar showed signs of tiring; only fierce determination and focus.

Vidar suddenly stopped and gave a hand signal for their group to halt. Thor felt confusion at this command; there was nothing ahead and no sign of any creatures about to attack -

\- swift as the wind, Vidar grabbed a dagger from his belt and threw it into a bush. A gurgling hiss and resounding 'thump' revealed a hideous cave goblin, bloody hands clawing at its neck where the dagger struck.

Thor raised an appreciative eyebrow. It rose even higher as two of Vidar's men soundlessly moved to the goblin and ended its life. Perhaps, these men were better than Thor had given them credit for.

"A cave goblin? Strange to see one so far from Nidavellir." The All Father said in a flat tone. Cave goblins, from what Thor remembered from his history lessons, were mischievous little creatures that lived in the mountains of Nidavellir. If he recalled correctly, they absolutely hated dwarves more than anything else.

"Well, it matters not. Let us continue on." Odin said, ending any opportunity to open up conversation about his statements. By the looks everyone was throwing each other, they had caught onto whatever silent message the All Father had given. All, except Thor. That was fine with Thor. If it was important, he would learn of it sooner or later. Right now, Loki was the priority.

They walked for some time with nothing of interest to interrupt them. Thor was beginning to feel anxious. What if they were too late? What if Loki had already perished at the hands of those dwarves? Why would they even want Loki in the first place? Did they wish for him to perform some sort of magic? Was he simply a hostage for trade? So many questions with no answers.

Just as Thor was about to lose his patience and fly ahead, the ground began to tremble and shake. The group stopped and readied themselves as the sound of something very big and angry stomped its way toward their location. Vidar began making hand signs to the others. Thor had no time to ask what they meant as dozens of cave goblins burst out of the bushes followed by five ferocious rock trolls.

Thor felt a grin split across his face. Now here was a challenge! Quickly making his way to one of the raging rock trolls, Thor unleashed Mjolnir and sent several goblins into the afterlife with one mighty swing. The rock troll, he knew, would be harder to take down. The creature's body was covered in hard granite that even the strongest metals could not penetrate. Thankfully, Mjolnir was an exception to this.

For a creature of such great size, the troll was surprisingly quick in its movements. It took Thor several tries to land a blow and even then it had been a glancing one. The troll in turn would try to grab Thor with its sharp claws that could cut through Asgardian bone with ease. He had avoided such a fate so far and intended to keep it that way.

As he battled with his opponent, Thor was able to catch glimpses of the others. He was surprised to see Vidar taking on and killing one of the trolls single handedly. The movement had been so quick, Thor hadn't been able to see how the guard had done it - and with such ease! Odin was sitting on his own fallen troll, casually killing any goblins foolish enough to come near him with a stroke from Gungnir.

Dodging a blow that would have separated his head from his shoulders, Thor noticed that five of Vidar's men were slowly but methodically killing a troll while the other five protected them by killing goblins that ventured too close.

Suddenly, a loud, bellowing yell filled the area; it was a war cry Thor had never heard before but it filled him with both fear and adrenaline. Looking about, he was surprised to see the cry had come from Ingnar. Seeing the cook jump up and sever the troll's head from its shoulders with one swing from his axe made Thor's mouth drop open in shock. Not only at the fact that the man had moved so easily and confidently on his peg-leg but also because that old, dull looking axe should have broken on the thick hide of the troll.

"Prince Thor!"

Thor wasn't sure who had called his name but it reminded him of his own battle and he turned just in time to see the troll was about to bear its mighty fists down upon him. Cursing himself for making the novice mistake of taking his eyes off his opponent, Thor tried to bring up his hammer to bock the blow but knew he would not make it in time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Níðingr is a Viking insult. More or less, it's calling someone a villain according to my findings.


	7. The Brother, Part 2

**Chapter 7- Thor, Part 2**

Before the troll's fists found Thor, a dagger flew through the air and embedded itself between the troll's eyes. The creature blinked stupidly and began stumbling backwards, crying out in pain as more daggers struck its face. Screeching and forgetting about Thor, it tried to remove the daggers, giving Thor the chance to end its miserable existence with one mighty blow from Mjolnir.

As he went to remove the daggers from the troll, Thor's hand stilled as he watched all but one fade away. The last dagger rose gracefully in the air and flew back to where Greta stood, hand outstretched. Around her laid dead goblins with dagger wounds upon their bodies. Belatedly, Thor realized that he had done the least in this battle. Biting back a curse, he waited for someone to call out his lack of use. Surely his father would scold him for his bad form. Yet, no rebuke came. Everybody calmly cleaned their weapons, re-formed the circle and continued on.

The silence was suffocating for Thor. He was used to the cheerful voices of his friends when they went on their adventures. At last, he could take no more and asked Vidar how he had taken the rock troll down so easily. Without looking back, Vidar replied that a rock troll's weak point was the spot between it's eyes. If a warrior strikes it just right, the troll will fall dead as Thor had witnessed earlier. It was a short answer and Vidar did not seem willingly to go into detail, so Thor turned to Ingnar and asked how his axe had been able to cut through the troll's tough skin. That earned a more lively reply.

The old cook scolded Thor, asking him if he had only air in his head. "Think you that you're only one worthy to wield a weapon of great power? I saw how you looked upon my weapon- as if it was lesser because it does not shine as yours does. But my Gimlocke need not shine to keep its blade sharp. Many know of its worth, though none among your generation would have that knowledge. Aye, as easily as your hammer can call upon the lightening, my Gimlocke can cut through anything."

Thor wanted to know more. It was not often he came upon others who carried weapons as powerful as Mjolnir. Yet Thor staved off his questions because he could tell Ingnar was becoming annoyed with him. He turned to Greta and asked if her dagger was the same. The older woman shook her head and quietly explained that it was a spell casted on the dagger that allowed her to create multiples. It was a spell of necessity during the Jotunheim War because it gave the healers more than one weapon without depleting the Asgard's weapon supplies.

Again, Thor noticed that Greta stopped talking after she had answered the question. He could not understand why they were so reluctant to speak. Thor understood the need to be alert and on guard but they could do that and speak at the same time. Sif, the Warriors 3 and himself had been able to do so on their quests. Why then, could this older generation not do the same?

Before he could ask, his father walked closer to him and began to speak softly in Thor's ear. "You wonder why this party is so grim and silent. It is not meant in disrespect but they have never had the pleasure of gallivanting off to other realms to fight and party as they please. They know little of adventuring; their battles happened only in war. Your generation has had the luxury of never seeing war. You think you know it because you have fought enemies of your own making but Thor, _you do not know war_. These people around you, though? They know it. They know its wrath and despair and they loathe it. The guards you view as simpletons have gone on countless missions to retrieve supplies, rescue imprisoned warriors and steal vital information. The man you think of as a grouchy old cook is a war hero who has done many great deeds both on and off the battle field. The woman that cared for you as a child when you mother and I could not, was a renowned healer who saved the lives of many. You see them as you want: useless, unneeded and unnecessary. But my son, they are none of these things and they deserve the respect you seem so reluctant to give."

Thor was about to reply when Vidar stopped and gave a hand gesture to halt. Again, he made hand signals to the others. Thor wondered if they were military hand signals used in the war because everyone but him knew what they meant. He made a silent note to ask Vidar more about it when they returned to the palace. With weapon in hand and great stealth, Vidar crept toward a clump of bushes, the others following a few paces behind. As they moved closer, Thor heard the sound of someone trying to breathe as quietly as possible. Vidar's hand shot into the bushes and pulled out a dwarf.

The dwarf's clothing was ripped in various places and from the amount of wounds on his body, it was clear he was suffering from blood loss. Hazy eyes frantically danced across the company before resting on Odin. Upon seeing the All Father, the dwarf's eyes widen and he immediately began to try and bow and beg for mercy through his labored breaths.

With a single nod to Vidar, the guard moved out of the way and allowed Odin to see the dwarf. Quietly, in an angry voice, the All Father asked why he should spare one who had taken something precious from him with so little regard to the hurt it would cause. The dwarf sputtered and explained that he had nothing against Prince Loki or anyone in Asgard. He claimed he had not even known of the kidnapping until it was too late and had no choice but to participate. Indeed, he was on his way to back to Asgard to explain his side and take his punishment.

The All Father sighed heavily as the dwarf fell silent. "Even now you lie with your serpent tongue, you wicked creature! Truly, you think that I am unaware of your true form?" Upon saying this, Odin tapped his spear upon the dwarf's head and the dwarf turned into a cave goblin. "The moment we met your brethren in the woods, we knew of your ruse to frame the dwarves of my son's kidnapping. Never have your races shared love for one another. No doubt you meant to kill my son so that I would go to war with the dwarves. With them focused on fighting us, your people would be able to claim the mountains you covet so much. But tell me, foul being, how have you come by your injuries?"

The cave goblin's face twisted into an ugly scowl and he cursed the All Father and all of Asgard. The creature began to rant and rave, screaming obscenities and cursing Loki for injuring him so grievously. This lasted for a short fashion before the All Father grew impatient and killed the creature.

Thor felt hope grow in his chest. Loki was alive! And while his little brother had not killed this abhorrent thing, he had been able to injure it severely. Perhaps Loki had been able to do the same to the other goblins? Thor frowned. No, it was more likely that Loki had managed to strike this one after slyly slipping from whatever means the goblins used to subdue him. Angry, Thor withheld a growl, vowing to wipe out all the cave goblins in existence for any hurts Loki suffered under their care.

The rescue party continued on, following the tracks left by the goblin. As they walked, the sound of yelling and the clashing of metal was heard. A battle was taking place ahead and the party quickened their pace. They made their way to a clearing and stopped dead at the sight that beheld them.

It was not a battle.

It was a _massacre._

All around lay dead goblins and trolls. From the looks of the tents and campfire, this was a stake-out camp for the cave goblins. Thor cared little for these details as he drank in the sight of his brother gracefully wielding a broadsword against two goblins.

A broadsword. The one weapon Loki could never master. Or so Thor had thought. So used was he to seeing Loki incorporating his magic into his daggers and staff, Thor had forgotten Loki knew of the weapon all together. Why his brother wasn't using his magic became clear as Thor spied cuffs upon his brother's wrists and neck; all engraved with runes designed to suppress magic.

Loki had not noticed them, busy taunting and fighting off the goblins. He drove his sword through one goblin's chest and quickly jerked back, releasing the corpse to the forest floor. The last goblin, already suffering wounds, was no match for the anger of the second son and also met his end.

Apparently, Loki did not need rescuing.

But then, a rock troll that all thought was dead stood back up. With Loki's back to it, he had no chance to defend himself. With a mighty roar, the troll began to attack only to discover . . .

. . . daggers implanted in its face.

. . . eleven swords gutted in its stomach.

. . . an axe cleaving through its chest.

. . . a spear driven into its throat.

. . . and a hammer coming down upon its skull with a sickening crunch.

Whirling around, Loki's green eyes widened at the sight of his brother, father, and several dear friends glaring down at an over-killed troll before looking at him in concern. Valhalla, he was a sight to look upon. Most Asgardians, when ripped and bloodied from a fight looked as they should; warriors that had emerged victorious. Loki, however, with his slim frame and big eyes looked like he needed to be tucked away in bed for a few months and doted on. All felt their protective instincts rise up when looking at him in such a state.

"Oh. You came." Loki said in disbelief, dropping his sword as his eyes rolled back in his head. Thor was quick to catch his brother before he hit the floor, Greta right behind him. After laying Loki down on the ground, Greta slowly bullied Thor out of the way so she could check Loki's injuries. As she worked, Odin removed the cuff around Loki's neck while Vidar took the ones from his wrists. Then, Thor and Ingnar used their weapons to destroy them. As they did this, Vidar's men gathered up the bodies to burn and searched the camp. They discovered stolen goods from Asgard- explaining how Loki gotten his hands on a broadsword- as well as detailed plans on not only Loki's kidnapping but what the goblins had planned to do with him afterwards. Thor felt sick to his stomach reading the words and would have destroyed the letters but Odin stopped him, citing the papers would be needed for evidence.

The healing glow of Greta's magic faded and she looked to the All Father, telling him that she had done what she could. Loki was suffering from severe exhaustion and had mostly superficial wounds with the exception of one stab wound that had punctured his right lung. Both Odin and Thor winced at that. Of all the things to be injured, the lungs were the worst option. Greta assured them that once Loki was taken to the healing rooms, he would be whole again. She also went on to say that he would be able to handle travel through the Bifrost. Thor could have kissed her for that news.

Odin gently gathered Loki in his arms and called upon Heimdall to take them back. In the blink of an eye, they were at the bridge. Heimdall, seeing Loki's wounds, had called ahead for healers with Frigga at the forefront, eager to see her son. Thor felt disembodied as he watched them lay Loki on a stretcher, muttering their spells as they took him back to the palace. Loki should not be on that stretcher, he should not be wounded at all! He should be in the library scouring over dusty scrolls. He should be running from angry nobles he had just pranked or visiting that run downed district he loved so much. He should be anywhere but in the healing wards suffering from battle wounds.

Thor didn't know how he made it back to the palace. Someone must have guided him. All he knew is that it felt like an eternity before a healer entered the hallway where he sat, waiting for news. He jumped up at seeing her and for the first time, noticed he was not alone in the halls. His father and mother were there as were all who had been in the rescue party. The healer gave them a smile and told them Loki had stabilized. He would need to rest for a week or so but he would be well.

That week, Thor stayed at Loki's side leaving only to bathe and relieve himself. His brother slept through most of it and seemed surprised to find Thor sitting with him when he awoke. Did Loki think Thor would not care that he was hurt? Thor's heart ached at the thought and he vowed to correct his brother's misconceptions.

Surprisingly, for both brothers, Thor was not the only one to visit and linger. Greta came by the most, using simple jobs such as changing the linen as an excuse to see Loki. Every time she visited, she casted a cooling charm that made Loki sigh in relief.

The food being brought in was all of Loki's favorites and Thor knew Ingnar had made the food himself. The head cook came by in the evenings and would gruffly thrust delicious honey cakes into Thor's hands. With a growl, he'd tell Loki to hurry up and heal because he needed a potato peeler. Thor would be offended on Loki's behalf but hearing Loki's quiet laughter, realized it was joke between the two. Vidar and his men were on duty but somehow, one of them would find a way into Loki's room for some reason or another. It was rather amusing to the brothers and they began making bets on what excuses the guards would come up with.

Lastly, a young man Thor had never seen before would stop by, bringing different gifts every time. Loaves of bread, fine clothing and other items that came from masters of their trades were all sent as gifts for Loki. Thor had no idea his brother was in favor with so many people. The finest gift came near the end with the young man presenting Loki with a pair of twin daggers; finely crafted in both art and steel.

At the end of the week, when his mother and Loki finally convinced him it was alright to eat in the mess hall, Thor came back to Loki's room and found his brother quietly conversing with their father. Thor could not hear what was being said but by Loki's vulnerable expression and Odin stopping to gather him in his arms and kiss his forehead, Thor knew his father was reminding Loki that he was loved beyond measure.

Sometimes, we feel alone and often forget that there are others who care and look out for us. Perhaps though, if we just peeked over our shoulders every now and then, we would see the ones protecting our backs.


End file.
